


Destiny's Reach

by patria_mori



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:16:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patria_mori/pseuds/patria_mori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time Arthur had seen Merlin it had been 1969. A fourth bomb had just gone off in Belfast and Arthur was watching the newscast through the front window of a small appliance shop in the centre of Edinburgh. He had never wanted to spend his eternity fighting the endless battles that sprang up across the globe, the ones that Merlin seemed convinced where on his shoulders. So he had given up. Only...his last fight hadn't been against some foreign nation. It had been with Merlin. It isn't until he loses track of the man for the longest time in centuries that Arthur begins to re-evaluate where they've come from and where he hopes they may be again. When Merlin enters his life once more, it's up to Arthur to fight for what he thought he'd lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destiny's Reach

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to keep my sanity through a very strange year when all I wanted to think about was Scotland. I know I have a bad habit of introspection fics. I was thinking about the issues that might arise from dealing with only one constant for thousands of years, coupled with character traits and the things they might hold on to (or might want to forget). I don't like making up original characters for fanfics and giving them lines, but sometimes they'd unavoidable and I apologise in advance to those of you who, like me, don't like reading them. (I didn't do a reincarnation theme, and needed extra people.)
> 
> I have to thank preciousarthur from Merlin Betas for taking the time to beta this before it was complete - and I apologise for any remaining inconsistencies. I can't fix tense issues without being generally unhappy with the story, and I'd rather be happy than sparklingly pristine. Any spelling, missing letters or words though is just me being blind. (Also, 'the Life Eternal' is a Thing.) (<3<3<3)
> 
> If anyone's interested, the song at the end is Blue Eyes by Don Partridge, the King of Buskers. It was #3 on the UK charts in March of 1968. (Because I'm a nerd and actually research things I mention in passing.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXaA6dN5Ju4

(They were like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit anymore.)

 

The last time Arthur had seen Merlin it had been 1969. A fourth bomb had just gone off in Belfast and Arthur was watching the newscast through the front window of a small appliance shop on Prince’s Street in the centre of Edinburgh. The civil unrest in the North was mounting again and Arthur wondered with a detached interest just how long the Irish had before they could reach an accord. It could be months, it could be decades, but the world always sorted itself. Conflict and resolution were human nature.

“You can’t just do _nothing_ ,” Merlin had hissed, clutching tight at his umbrella and casting a furtive look at the couple that passed them in the afternoon rain. “You’re King Arthur. You have a _Destiny_ , you can shape the very world itself.”

“No, Merlin.” Arthur had his arms crossed, eyes concentrated on the tiny screen, trying to lip-read the news presenter as they detailed the events. The men behind the attacks didn’t have a unified platform, they barely even had a unified group. The history and the pride they spouted varied from year to year. The new generations claimed and perverted an already confused ideal. Even if Arthur had wanted to step forward and sort out the mess the Crown had fostered, in something like this there was no simple solution anymore. Not like Merlin wanted.

Every time they found each other, no matter their time apart, Merlin would start in again about everything that Arthur was, should be, could be. Every so often, Arthur had tried. He tried to live up to the image that Merlin had of him; of his golden king, of the righter of wrongs, the champion of the underdogs. But after so many years, Arthur was tired. He wasn’t sure when Merlin had first started coming to the realisation that Arthur had stopped trying, but if his agitation was anything to go by, he had gotten it then, standing in the Scottish rain.

It wasn’t as though he would stand aside in the face of injustice, or ignore an unequal fight if he came across one. It was just the wars and civil unrests – he had bled more for Britain than any man alive, and he knew he would again if need be. But he refused to jump headlong into every fight that emerged. Conflicts were changing, dragging out into moral greys. It wasn’t one figurehead against another any longer – it hadn’t been for some time. Now conflicts were like hydras, a never ending struggle that left the world fractured a little more with each engagement. There were too many vacuums, and too many gaps left behind.

Arthur can’t even remember the particulars of their argument now, but he knows it had ended when Arthur had thrown up his hands and walked away. He’d spent the night down by the docks, soaked to the bone and angry. In the morning, he’d caught a train from Waverly to Inverness and never looked back. Merlin could find him, if he wanted to. Merlin had always known how to find him.

But he never did.

Maybe Merlin had been tired too.

There had been moments over the centuries when Arthur had wondered how long Merlin would be willing to follow after a crownless king; how long, once Merlin realised Arthur was just a man trying to make his way in the world as best as he could. It had always sat like a weight in his chest, inexplicable and immovable, from the first time Merlin had looked him in the eye and said with unshakable faith, _‘you’ll be a good King, Arthur’_. After that day in the rain, Arthur had his answer. He was impressed Merlin had stuck it out as long as he had.

In Arthur’s opinion, he’d been a rather terrible king – he’d only held the title for a handful of years, offended a number of neighbouring royals and forged one fragile alliance after murdering a husband. Sure, there was the chance that had he not been struck down so young, Camelot could have grown to be a place worthy of bards and court tales. At the time, Arthur hadn’t had any more expansive plans than holding his own borders and being worthy of his people. Despite the tales, a unified Britain had taken centuries, hostile invasions and hundreds of thousands of deaths; as idealistic and flattering as the idea was that Arthur had managed it - that Britain wasn’t Arthur’s legacy.

Over the years, Arthur had begun to think that maybe Merlin had forgotten that.

Camelot was gone now – only he and Arthur remained.

Arthur had a job now, working as an architect and historical restoration consultant that specialized in listed buildings. Arthur rather liked his job. He was good at it, it kept him busy and being self-employed gave him flexibility when he wanted it to do as he pleased. He spoke English and he spoke French, and that was enough for him – everything else had long been forgotten and he never had the need to refresh them. Over the years, Arthur had had a hand in nearly every restoration project in Lothian and a number more in Strathclyde and the highlands. He’d once had a three month contract on Glamis, repairing the north wall, and he was particularly proud of the work in the end.

Arthur knew every street and every store and every tucked away place from Loch Leven to Peebles and Dunbar to Livingston. He had once spent a summer walking from the Firth of Forth to the Firth of Clyde. And what he had learned over the years was simple: what Arthur wanted from life wasn’t the call of destiny or the responsibility to a nation that had all but forgotten him. What he wanted from life was just that. _Life._ If he was forced to live the life eternal, he was going to do it his way.

When Arthur died - and he remembered dying, though he often wished he didn’t - he had thought that was the end of it. It was painful, and not only because of the sword shard inching its way closer to its mark over those two agonizing days. No, it was painful because Arthur had been forced to reassess the one most important relationship he had ever had in a new and frightening light. His feelings on the matter were a tattered mess, but he didn’t have the time to sort them – not when confronted with Merlin’s own overwhelming condition. Arthur had to shoulder Merlin’s fear and Merlin’s hurt and acknowledge that he wasn’t just leaving behind his kingdom. He had to recognise that, of everything that had happened since that day in the Lower Town, chasing a perplexing young peasant about with a mace - his greatest failure hadn’t been leaving his kingdom to the invading Saxons. His greatest failure had been to his closest friend.

And then he had woken; the rain of Albion on his face, a field beneath his back. 

It took three lifetimes to understand why.

On the shores of the beach where Merlin had sent Arthur off to the isle of Avalon and the care of the Sidhe, the Sidhe had accepted Arthur as a sacrifice. A vessel. The Sidhe’s link to the mortal world was fading, and if they wanted to survive, they needed something solid and something reliable to build on. Something like a mortal prince. Arthur was a door and portal to the Sidhe – and twice already they had tried to take him. This third time, he was gifted by the Emrys himself; no longer a prince, but _a king_. A king recognised by dragons and druids and mortals alike. A king tied with Destiny.

They had poured their magic into him, finding a place alongside the spark that had created him all those years ago that had not yet faded into darkness - their magic wrapping around his very soul and tying him between the realms. This was how they had healed him, the aid Merlin had sought for with blind desperation. So long as the Sidhe existed, Arthur would live. So long as Arthur lived, the Sidhe could exist. He could die a thousand times over, and still he would wake to rain on his face and Merlin at his side.

As much as Arthur wanted to live an average life, time and again he was reminded he was far from average. He couldn’t start a family and grow old. He couldn’t die alongside his countrymen or hide in some backwater village ‘til the end of his days. Someone would notice. The world would call on him. In the end, Arthur wasn’t anything anymore; not a king, not even a man. It was Merlin’s fault, and Arthur couldn’t even blame him - it had just been how they’d operated then and would again in all the ages since. On the shores of that lake, Arthur would have offered anything, had it been Merlin’s life bleeding out in his arms.

Arthur knew he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Merlin through the years since that day in the Scottish rain. He did. He missed him in a way that ached and in a way that refused to be set aside no matter how often he tried. It hadn’t mattered before, the distance. No matter where they ended up, down the street from each other or across the globe, Merlin had always made sure that Arthur had known where to find Merlin when he wanted to. They’d always kept in touch however they could. Until now.

The first few years had been easy, when Arthur was still angry and irritable with frustration simmering under his skin. He kept thinking Merlin would show up one day and they would have it out properly. He expected Merlin to, because that’s what Merlin did – they had never been apart for more than a handful of years, at most. But Merlin didn’t. For once in his ridiculous career of insubordination, Merlin was respecting Arthur’s decision. 

He knew on some level it was that concept, once the thought struck him, which was the cause of the hollow ache in his chest. He was angry, he was hurt, he was frustrated and he had no idea how to fix any of it. Arthur had no way of finding Merlin if he didn’t want to be found. He didn’t have the magic that seemed to guide Merlin like a homing beacon, and their little world had become so large Arthur could search it thrice over and they still might pass like ships in the night. Merlin was the one man who had always stood by his side and the one he owed everything to, and Arthur had been the one to walk away from him.

The thought that it might be for good struck Arthur deeper than he cared to admit. The panic that something had happened to Merlin flared hot and bright and simmered still in Arthur’s chest.

Arthur had moved back to Edinburgh in the early nineties. Maybe he was hoping Merlin would still be there. Maybe he was hoping if he passed by that particular shop window, Merlin would still be standing there, clutching at his umbrella, waiting for Arthur to apologise. 

Maybe, but Arthur certainly wasn’t going to admit it to anyone, least of all himself.

He wasn’t convinced he even owed Merlin an apology for reacting the way he had - some of the things that had been said, perhaps, but not standing his ground on the big issues.

It didn’t matter anyway. Merlin wasn’t there. The old electronics shop had been converted into a William Hill.

And life went on.

Arthur’s flat in Edinburgh was tucked away by Grassmarket; a simple one bedroom in an unassuming stone tenement building in a long row of stone buildings, down a narrow cobblestone street. Arthur liked being surrounded by stone. He liked the workmanship behind it. He liked the feeling of permanence it inspired. Edinburgh’s stones were stained brown and worn, and not at all like the smooth white walls of a distant, forgotten castle - no artisanal flutes and swirls with impossibly thin arched walks. Edinburgh was solid. Edinburgh was real.

The walls of Arthur’s flat had long since been stripped and washed and painted in a dull magnolia white. Everything nowadays was a dull magnolia white, a starter colour that no one ever really got around to painting over – it looked clean, if not entirely homey, and Arthur had never been very good at decorating anyhow. Repairs, he could do; matching curtains was a step too far. He’d taken the time to update and refurbish the space by hand, a few hours here and there to refit the plumbing and fixtures, a few weekends to check the wiring and install modern appliances between other projects. 

He’d always wanted to build his own home. Before, he and Merlin had travelled the world, never stopping long in any one place - sometimes months, sometimes years, but always on the move. Too often, it felt as though they were merely living out of a suitcase even when they had owned property, never knowing when they would have to pick up once more.

When Arthur had moved back to Edinburgh, he had decided he was done.

He hadn’t just rented his flat – he’d bought the entire tenement. The rest of the flats were managed by someone named Morris Gallagher out of an office on Hanover. The first Monday of every month, there was a deposit in Arthur’s bank account. The first Friday of every month, Arthur had taken to accompanying his younger colleagues and acquaintances out for a night on the town and spent that money fitting in. He was careful, and he never did anything that might make a stir. There was enough changeover in a modern city that there was little chance of someone crying witch at an oddity.

One day, he wanted to buy a plot of land - maybe a farm somewhere, build a home and live off the land. Arthur had joked once about doing just that sort of thing back in the olden days. He had imagined it might have actually worked if they had all been untitled and free. He and Gwen and Merlin and Morgana. Gwaine and Percival. Elyan, Lancelot and Leon. Even Mordred and Kara. The whole lot of them, building a life together as equals. He liked to think about it still. Granted, they’d need to build a whole village for the lot of them, but Arthur felt they would have been up to the challenge. He wanted that dream more than he could qualify, but doing it alone now was unthinkable.

He had tried to keep them all in his life. He’d tried to protect his knights, his friends. He’d tried to give Morgana the paths to come home and start anew. He’d even tried to give Kara every chance he could to get her back safely to Mordred’s side. There was nothing more he could have done. He didn’t regret trying.

One day, he hoped he could try again.

**::**

The end days of 1914 are some of the worst Arthur can remember. It seemed like every country was declaring war on one nation or the other across the world. Military advances meant that a single well placed soldier could obliterate entire armies as they trudged through open fields. The only embrace was the rifle in his arms. The only bed was a muddy hole, reinforced with whatever was on hand and guaranteed to collapse if near enough to a shell anyhow. Arthur couldn’t remember how it had gotten this bad. He doesn’t know if he can keep the men in his unit alive, let alone accomplish what the upper Brass are asking of them. This war is a combination of guerrilla tactics, blind planning and sheer dumb luck. They keep throwing men at each other until one side gives.

A body skids and slides down next to him and Arthur’s knuckles tighten impossibly in an already tense grip around his rifle. “Shite, don’t sneak up on me, Merl.”

Merlin grabs Arthur’s wrist and prises it from his weapon. He stuffs a ration bar into it instead and ducks down to whisper forgotten words. Arthur’s feet and socks are suddenly dry and clean for the first time in weeks. They still ache. 

“Where have you been?”

“They’ve called the retreat. We’ve won for now. The Germans won’t press on to Paris.”

“Merlin,” Arthur keeps his eyes on the mud wall of his foxhole. He doesn’t bother pressing for details – if Merlin had done something, there’s nothing he can do about it now. “I want you in London. This war is already bigger than we’ve ever seen, and –“

“And I will be of the most help at your side. I didn’t spend years dissecting cadavers and studying medicine to hide away at a desk miles from the front. I can save lives, Arthur. Besides, you’d be lost without me.”

“How many?” Arthur’s head rested against the wall of mud at his back. He knows the man in the next foxhole over is dead. He’d been injured before the retreat to Marnes, and he needed a surgeon with better equipment than they had in the field with Merlin running messages back to command. Even if Merlin were here, he wouldn’t be able to save them all – not without drawing notice. Arthur had had to stop Merlin from acting more than once since the outbreak, sending him off to fetch one thing or another with a thin mouth and angry eyes while Arthur sat and watched good men expire.

Merlin had respected Arthur’s orders, even if he didn’t understand the place they came from.

Arthur can’t even taste the rations. Even if he could, he knows they don’t taste like food. He feels like he’d run headlong into an enemy barrage for a good steak, or even just something fresh. He’d eat all the fruit Merlin could put in front of him if he could just leave this god forsaken place. Merlin could save them all, end the war - no one else would die sitting in mud a thousand miles from home. But if Merlin did, Arthur knew he would lose him. Merlin would be taken from him, and they would never again find peace.

Merlin’s quiet, and Arthur knows their losses are higher than Merlin can count at the moment. They won’t know for certain until the survivors report in. “They’ll call us back any day now. They say it will be over by Christmas.”

It wasn’t. 

When the opportunity presented itself, Arthur signed on to the Air Corps and Merlin followed him.

**::**

“Goodnight, Russell,” Arthur said with a short nod to the man standing security at the mouth of the castle courtyard. The light was on in the small booth and the metal fencing was already in place for the nightly watch, preventing the constant stream of tourists from storming the castle overnight. 

“Back tomorrow, are ye?”

“Lucky me,” Arthur said with a bit of a laugh. He pulled off his hardhat, scrubbing fingers through his fringe. “Ian’s not done with me yet. I think the dungeons are leaking, and he mentioned something about a _garderobe_.”

Most of the castle staff had already filtered out for the evening, making way for the night crew of cleaners to sweep in and restore the grounds to order. Unlike many of the castles and historic buildings in the UK falling into disrepair over the years, Edinburgh Castle had a regular stream of foot traffic throughout the year due in large part to its central location and general prominence. Luckily for Arthur, that meant a higher number of projects that needed his attention over the years. It also meant that he knew the staff a mite too well sometimes.

Ian Campbell was the sort of man who Arthur suspected read Scott and Burns religiously every night before he turned in; a jovial enough man, but a Scottish nationalist to the very core. Arthur, who had seen Scotland before it had been christened and long before colour-coded clans and bagpipes, often had to watch his words carefully around the castle’s modern castellan. In addition, most of Arthur’s clients trusted his expertise in his field, but with Ian, he liked to be involved every step of the way. Arthur half expected to turn up tomorrow to discover Ian waiting, hard hat on and tools in hand. He’d done it before.

It was going to be a long day.

Arthur stuffed his hands into his coat pockets as he passed through the gap in the fencing. He gave a soft snort at the handful of hopeful tourists milling about outside the tartan mill, taking photos in the dark of Castle Hill that would likely turn out as nothing more than smears and blurred splotches upon inspection. Smiling, he turned down the steep stairs of the north Castle Wynd, following the curtain wall of the castle down the hill.

It wasn’t until about halfway down that Arthur noticed the man making his way up the stairs in the opposite direction. He had the hood of his khaki anorak pull up and he kept his head low, hands tucked deep in his pockets. He didn’t once look at Arthur as they brushed by each other, but all the same Arthur knew with utter certainty the man was acutely aware of every move Arthur made. He’d seen him lurking about before. 

It wasn’t the first time in his life that Arthur had attracted a shadow – someone who decided for whatever reason that following Arthur was a logical, undetectable course of action. Sometimes it had been suspicion that drove them, sometimes it had been greed, sometimes madness. Regardless of what drove the man this time around, Arthur would deal with it. He always did.

The day Arthur first noticed the man in the khaki anorak lurking around Grassmarket with his hood pulled low, Arthur had merely made note and carried on his day. The third time he recognized the figure across the street from his office window, Arthur had wondered dully if he was being marked – if somehow he had started giving off the impression that he was an easy target, or a wealthy one. He was wearing a pair of worn white plimsolls then and jeans that had long since started to fray at the hems, and surely his tweed blazer had seen better days. It didn’t make sense, but then sometimes it didn’t have to.

As Arthur reached the bottom of the stairs he glanced back. He was not the least surprised to find that the man had changed his course, now casually sauntering back down as though he’d only taken the stairs to maybe see if the castle was open at ten at night and was disappointed to find it not. Arthur frowned, turning back to Johnston Terrace as he jogged across between the light traffic. Whoever the man was, he would think twice about tailing Arthur after tonight.

The path from the castle to his flat in Grassmarket was such a familiar path now. The south end of the Castle Wynd stairs that led from Johnston Terrace down to Grassmarket was actually two sets of stairs separated by a short stretch of walk and bordered by tall stone walls on either side - one way in and one way out, and two right angle corners to limit one’s view. Arthur knew exactly how many steps there were between the North and South Castle Wynds. He knew what CCTV cameras covered what areas, and he knew exactly where to quicken his pace to be lost from sight for those few crucial moments. When the man in the anorak turned the corner at the bottom of the first set of stairs, Arthur was already there, catching the man’s wrist, twisting them around and pressing a forearm hard against his chest, forcing the man into the old stone wall.

 _‘What do you want?’_ died on Arthur’s tongue as he got his first proper sight of shadowed features under the man’s hood. An instant later, he had torn off the hood with his free hand, staring incredulously at the man.

The question was still pertinent, but Arthur wasn’t in the mood to ask it. He didn’t know what he was in the mood to ask, so he didn’t ask anything – he let his arms drop and took two steps back down in the narrow alley. Merlin stared back at him as if he too was at a bit of a loss. Which was ridiculous – Merlin had been haunting his steps for weeks; surely he had _something_ to say that would break the awful silence.

Empires had fallen in less time than it took for Merlin to swallow and say: “You look well.”

Arthur wanted to laugh, a choked off burst of sound into the night’s air. But he didn’t.

“You’ve been trailing me,” Arthur stated.

Merlin looked ready to object, but whatever he was going to say was re-examined and instead what came out was: “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Arthur did snort at that. The awkward silence stretched until it felt almost like a living thing. Merlin was back, and now that he was, Arthur wasn’t certain how that made him feel. He wanted to pull Merlin into a hug, fierce and hard and never let go. He wanted to land a fist across those cheekbones and yell until all the built up anger and frustration vented into the night air.

He’d wanted this, hadn’t he?

During the decades they had spent apart, the worry that Arthur had fucked up had eaten away at the ever growing pit in his stomach. Merlin had always felt a bit like a piece of Arthur, a vital organ, comforting in his mere existence – he needed Merlin, and he liked to think that just maybe, Merlin needed him. Being apart had been painful and a little bit terrifying, but also _freeing_ in a way Arthur hadn’t expected it to be. It made him think that maybe there was more to their arrangement than destiny and inevitable fate. That maybe, this nearness was something the two of them chose. 

But now Merlin had come skulking back as though he _hadn’t_ had that choice – because why else would he sneak about instead of announcing himself? Why else, unless he thought Arthur wouldn’t approve and yet still couldn’t stay away? Had Merlin been trailing after Arthur all along, and just gotten sloppy? As much as Arthur was relieved to see him – not that Arthur would I ever admit that aloud to anyone, let alone Merlin – he hadn’t wanted it like that. 

_I want my best friend back,_ Arthur realised. _I want Merlin as he was then, before I knew anything at all._

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur kept his teeth clenched and his back straight. When it became apparent there was nothing else forthcoming, Arthur gave Merlin a stiff nod and turned away. He hated that walking away just then felt like the most difficult thing he had done in ages. And yet…walking away was the only thing he could bring himself to do.

**::**

Arthur took the next day off work.

He didn’t have to – Arthur could do his job blindfolded - he was more than capable of doing it while suffering from a minor emotional breakdown. Not that he was. Normal people did this sort of thing all the time. Janet, one of the historical consultants, had spent a week ranting in the site office about an ex-lover driving up from Manchester and leaving her messages and _she_ still got on with her job. The junior curator Richard had done it when his psychotic girlfriend had thrown a brick through his window and he’d spent three nights at a hostel while it was being fixed. Not that Merlin was an ex-lover, really. Even still, he and Merlin had just as many issues between them whether bare skin was involved or not.

And that wasn’t the path he was meant to be going down with regards to Merlin. The man had never failed to throw Arthur’s thoughts off kilter. Why hadn’t Merlin just said he was there? Why stalk Arthur like some sort of vagrant? If Merlin had wanted to set things to rights, why hadn’t he just… Arthur had more answers to those questions than he knew what to do with, and no certainty of which was more accurate. It had been a long time since he had been able to predict Merlin.

If he’d ever been able to predict Merlin at all.

Arthur spent the day watching reruns of Top Gear and eating frozen meals on his couch. He kept his mobile turned off, and resolutely decided everything else could be sorted later. 

The next day, Arthur went back to work. He refused to allow Merlin to interrupt his life just by being there, and if he caught Merlin at it again, then they’d have to talk about this. Until then, he could ignore it and maybe the strange feeling in his stomach would disappear.

He didn’t need to worry.

Or wonder if Merlin would disappear again.

After a few days it became clear that Merlin had stopped haunting Arthur’s footsteps. It didn’t stop Arthur from looking, just to be certain, at every man around Merlin’s build, or person lingering suspiciously in the street. Merlin had turned him paranoid – but Merlin, it seemed had given up hiding. And still he didn’t contact Arthur.

Over the following three weeks, Arthur happened across Merlin six times. He knew that Merlin was continuously aware of where Arthur was at any given point – he had said so often enough over the years – but for some reason, this go around Merlin had decided not to acknowledge it. Four of those six encounters, Merlin hadn’t even reacted to Arthur walking by; reading a thick novel in the window seat of Café Nero’s, debating between orange juice brands in Tesco’s. Two times, they had passed in the street, and Merlin had given him a small nod of greeting and they had both continued along their way.

Like they were strangers.

Like they were normal.

Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of it. A small part of him, that was growing traitorously larger each day, was disappointed by the casual ambivalence Merlin had adopted – almost as if he _wanted_ Merlin to make their encounters into something bigger, something Arthur could point at and say ‘ah _ha!’_ and justify the strange weight in his chest by pinning it on Merlin. Another was just glad to know he was nearby.

To Arthur, the only solution to fixing whatever this had become was to finish the fight they had started all those years ago – the argument he couldn’t properly remember. But if he could remember, maybe then he could move on. They could move on. They could be Arthur and Merlin again…except Arthur didn’t want to just be Arthur and Merlin as they had been. Arthur wanted to start over, without the weight of their history and the expectations that had dragged behind them like unwanted ballast through the years. He just didn’t know how to do it.

He was nearly at his wit’s end, ready to stalk Merlin himself and corner him. Arthur would have too, if he didn’t know that Merlin would catch on within the first five minutes and start casting aspersions on Arthur’s intentions. No, Arthur wasn’t going anywhere this time; he wasn’t running away and he was damn well going to wait Merlin out until he figured out just what it was the man was after. Now that Merlin was in reach once more, outwaiting him was simple.

**::**

It was Friday night and the pubs were filled to breaking point with Scots and Aussies and the recklessly obnoxious tourist. Arthur liked this pub. It was the sort that had a small raised platform that hosted local live bands and attracted a younger crowd than some of the watering holes in the New Town. He’d invited Janet and Richard out promising a good night at his shout – he’d even invited Russell, though the man had turned him down in favour of spending time with his young niece.

Arthur was into his third pint of stout when he noticed Merlin’s unmistakeable ears tucked away at the back of the pub. He was nursing something clear, eyes focused on the tablet in his hands. _The tablet_. Merlin was at a boisterous bar r _eading_ of all things. And probably drinking water. He wasn’t wearing his anorak either, Arthur noted, he was wearing a smart looking button down under a navy jumper looking every inch the respectable adult he’d never before been. He glanced up and smiled at a dark-haired mate of his that joined his table and went back to reading.

And then Arthur stopped looking.

He told himself he didn’t see the intense focus on Merlin’s face over the next half hour, or have even the slightest curiosity about what Merlin was reading. Or notice when the tablet was tucked away and Merlin started grinning at his tablemate.

“Didn’t paint you as the sort,” Richard said. Arthur stared down into his empty pint, fingers drumming against the warm glass. 

“What do you mean?” He hadn’t noticed Janet getting up, and Arthur had the strange sensation that he’d missed part of the conversation.

“I’ve nothing against it; have a cousin in Manchester that just got engaged. Lovely bloke. Copper.” 

Arthur frowned, tilting his glass in the low light. The man was mad. “I’m getting another pint. You?”

Richard gave a snort. “Yeah. Seize the day and all that rot.”

There was an expectant tilt to Richard’s expression and Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder at the bar where Merlin was fiddling with a coaster. Of course he was. The bartender set two glasses down on the counter, sliding them over. Arthur stamped down on the emotion that flickered through his chest as he watched Merlin give the bartender a smile, accepting his order gracefully. His Merlin had rarely been graceful. 

But then, it seemed Merlin hadn’t changed much. He turned too quickly, running headlong into a small group of men grouped next to him. A small group of men that were already intoxicated, and by the look of it, not the sort to easily patch things over with.

Arthur saw the moment Merlin’s glasses were about to tip. He saw the moment the man built like a rugby forward registered the cold wet dripping down his front, and the moment the man looked up and knew – _knew_ – Merlin was the cause. And Merlin, who despite the years still seemed to be that undersized, hapless boy that stumbled onto the training grounds and into Arthur’s life – Merlin had never had an ounce of self-preservation. Whatever Merlin said at that point was clearly the last thing the man wanted to hear. The man’s fist hit high, throwing Merlin’s balance, causing him to catch himself sloppily on whatever surface he could find. 

It was followed by Arthur’s fist. 

Arthur’s fist landed like it was coming home across the jaw of the man sending him hard to the floor. Arthur stood between the two with blood coursing hot through his veins. He slowly forced his hands to relax, to open. He didn’t remember moving. The man’s mates were looking between them and Arthur didn’t want to wait for them to collect themselves or for the man who was getting to his feet to continue their discussion.

“Arthur, I don’t–“ Merlin said, and Arthur didn’t want to wait for that either.

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the scruff of his neck and half pushed, half pulled him from the establishment – his colleagues he would make excuses to in the morning if he needed too, but given Richard’s unwanted approval, Arthur wasn’t overly concerned. He kept their pace brisk and an eye on their back, one hand hailing a cab. Arthur thanked the fates that one pulled up just as he caught sight of the group they had left piling out of the bar. Arthur pushed Merlin inside despite his string of protests. 

“Grassmarket,” Arthur said to the cabbie. Only as the cab pulled away did he realised that his hand was clenched tight around Merlin’s wrist. Arthur dropped it abruptly, stuffing his hands in his coat with a jerky determinedness. 

“Thank you.” Merlin’s voice was quiet, and Arthur could see that Merlin was staring at him from the reflection of his window. Arthur didn’t answer and Merlin didn’t say anything more; he didn’t look away either, and Arthur kept his eyes on the dark streets, blurring the reflection in his vision. 

As the cab neared the bottom of Victoria Street, Arthur said: “Here’s fine,” to the driver, holding out twenty quid between his fingers, his other hand already opening the door. Merlin was getting out as well and Arthur hadn’t really thought beyond getting Merlin out of harm’s way – he didn’t know what to do now that they were stood awkwardly on the street in the dark. He supposed he’d expected Merlin to continue on in the cab off to wherever he was currently residing, back to the life of half avoidance they had fallen into. 

Merlin stuffed his hands in his pockets, chin down and shoulders up against the cold of the night air. He’d left his coat and things back at the pub, and the idiot hadn’t said a word. Arthur could just walk away. He could say: “Well, that’s that, then” and be on his way. Arthur glanced up the steep cobbled street, up past the colourful shop fronts to the iron balcony rail running along the street above. His fingers toyed with the house keys in his coat pocket.

“Well, come on, then,” Arthur said, resolutely not looking at his dark haired shadow, stride long and confident in a way he certainly didn’t feel. Merlin had to jog a few steps to catch him up and Arthur fought the frown at how unfairly familiar the feeling of that was. He was being ridiculous. 

Merlin didn’t say anything as he followed Arthur to his flat and up the steep narrow stairs to the second floor. Arthur did his best to ignore him while he got his thoughts ordered, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over the back of an armchair. He walked to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Innis and Gunn, prising off the caps and taking a deep drink of one before turning back to where Merlin stood by the door. Merlin looked as uncertain as to what he was doing in the flat as Arthur was at having him there.

All Arthur could think was _good._ Let Merlin be the one with uncertainties and doubts for once. Let Merlin wonder what the hell Arthur was thinking and what rules applied to an encounter like this, because Arthur sure as hell didn’t know. 

Arthur held out one of the bottles, doing his damnedest to keep his face impassive, unreadable. When Merlin reached out slowly to take it, Arthur turned and walked away, letting himself fall gracelessly onto his couch. He might not know what Merlin expected from him, but he wasn’t going to let that show.

“What are you doing in the city?” Arthur asked, taking a drink, eyes focused on the wall. _Why were you following me,_ Arthur stopped himself from asking. _Why now?_ He didn’t need to ask. This had played itself out across centuries. Merlin came because he was drawn, and he had never been able to keep himself from haunting Arthur’s steps. _Destiny_ – it was one of the sore points in their lives and always had been.

Merlin shifted on his feet. Arthur let out a huff of a sigh and gestured with his bottle at the armchair. Arthur hadn’t decided if Merlin was welcome in his home, but they had shared enough history that in the end it really didn’t matter that much. Arthur knew the sound of Merlin’s breathing as he slept and the degrees of his frown. He knew if he told Merlin to leave now, Merlin would, and that was enough.

Merlin slowly sat, fingers tracing the neck of his bottle.

“I got offered a job,” Merlin said softly. “I wouldn’t have come, except…”

“Except you knew I was here,” Arthur finished. It wasn’t what he wanted to say – it was the beginning of an argument Arthur had no desire to pursue. Despite it all, he knew beyond a doubt he still wanted Merlin in his life. Arthur needed him. He let his eyes take Merlin in, the curl of his dark hair, the pale skin and the bruise just forming across his sharp cheekbone. It felt like forever since Arthur had seen those features. It felt like yesterday. He should have offered Merlin an ice pack, or something _, anything,_ to ease the swelling. Arthur took another drink instead.

“…Except the offer was excellent and I had a chance to make a difference,” Merlin said. For the first time since he had entered Arthur’s flat, Merlin met Arthur’s eyes and held them firmly, a flare of stubbornness and something that looked a bit like anger in his stare.

Arthur refused to feel chastised. He was also resolutely not thinking about what it might mean if Merlin was telling the truth – if he honestly hadn’t come back for Arthur. The thought cause a decidedly unpleasant sensation. He was so damn tired of the roiling mess of emotions this man engendered. “What was the offer?”

“The RHSC gave me a position.”

“As the resident clown?” Arthur didn’t give Merlin the satisfaction of being surprised. He wasn’t anyway, not really – working at the Royal Hospital for Sick Children was a job practically tailor-made for a man like Merlin. 

Merlin’s mouth twisted unhappily and Arthur wanted to apologise. “As a senior surgeon. The youngest they’ve ever had.”

“You’re older than Scotland.” 

Merlin’s fingers drummed on the bottle in his hands. After a moment, he said: “Are we going to talk about this?” and Arthur knew Merlin wasn’t meaning his job.

Arthur’s eyes traced Merlin’s temple down again to the angry red that was slowly turning a splotched purple. They needed to talk. They desperately needed to talk. But Arthur realised he wasn’t ready for it. He didn’t know how long it would take for him to be ready for it. “Not tonight,” Arthur said instead.

Merlin nodded stiffly. “Why’d you hit him?”

“Because you’re still rubbish at taking a hit.” _And he left a mark,_ Arthur thought in a distractingly possessive way. 

“I would have been fine.”

And the worst part was that Arthur knew that. Merlin hadn’t ever really needed Arthur’s protection, not when he had the freedom of using his magic. The most protection Merlin had ever needed was from his own clumsiness. Merlin had been surprised at the bar – the bruise on his cheek was the only hit that would have landed, and the men would likely never have even remembered the fight. 

“I know,” Arthur said softly.

Merlin didn’t respond, and Arthur didn’t need to look to know that Merlin was staring at his feet.

“Look at us,” Arthur said. He almost laughed. _Centuries_ they had spent together and now he couldn’t think of a thing to say. It should be easier than this.

Merlin frowned. “What about us?”

“We’re dysfunctional,” Arthur said. “We always have been.” 

“We’re not,” Merlin said quietly.

“You said it yourself. We’re tied together by Destiny and Fate and yet we’ve never accomplished anything, Merlin – if we were destined, shouldn’t it be easier than this? All those grand stories, they’re not _us._ We couldn’t even get that right.”

“You think I stayed because of destiny?”

“What would you call it?”

“Love.” Merlin’s voice was strong and certain and Arthur’s hand hesitated, bottle halfway to his lips.

“What?” Arthur asked.

Merlin set his untouched drink down on the low coffee table and got to his feet. “I’d say I have an early start tomorrow, but I don’t. I’m sorry that tosser ruined your night, and thanks for the beer.”

Arthur shoved himself to his feet. “You’re leaving? Merlin...”

Merlin paused for a moment, hands frozen where they were adjusting his scarf. But only a moment. He didn’t even turn to look back when he got to the door, just tossed back a soft: “Goodnight, Arthur” before he was gone.

Maybe it had never been easier than this.

**::**

Arthur slept in his armchair that night - more dozing lightly when his body couldn’t function any longer than any genuine sleep. With the dawn’s light, he rose woodenly and went through the motions of preparing for his day. He ignored the bottle sitting on the small table next to his own empty one.

For breakfast he had half a litre of water after his hands had fumbled the last pair of eggs he’d pulled from the fridge. He vowed to clean them up later, when his head had cleared enough for him to care.

The walk to his office by the canal was shorter than he remembered and not even the lights were on in the nearby coffee shop by the time he arrived. Arthur flicked on the lights of his office and started up the computers with single-minded determinedness. The technologist and graduate students he employed would be in three and a half hours later at the earliest. Arthur sank into his leather chair, burying his hands in his hair for a moment. He let out a long breath.

“Right,” he said into the emptiness. He got up and put the kettle on.

Arthur lasted until exactly 13:21 before he acknowledged that he was perhaps being a bit shorter than usual with his staff and really they would get far more done without him looming over their shoulders like an executioner. He shut down his desktop and told himself the tension that seemed to melt from the students wasn’t tied in the least to his departure.

He thought about grabbing a pint, but it was early still and the idea that Merlin was driving him to drink sat poorly. Instead, Arthur took a walk in the brisk Scottish air to clear his head. It wasn’t until he realised he’d left the Meadows behind two streets ago that Arthur noticed where he was. The old brick Jacobean building that made up the entrance of the children’s hospital rose before him.

 _He’s probably not even there_ , Arthur told himself. Arthur had no idea what sort of structure Senior Surgeons had in their work life. Did they have office hours? Did they work on an on-call basis, or a consulting role? What if he worked in an entirely different building across town most days?

Arthur spun on his heel and marched away.

**::**

“I’ve just been asked to pass on congratulations from the cartwright for your impending nuptials,” Merlin said, leaning on the woven willow fence Arthur had spent to morning fitting together. “Said he’d never seen two folks so in love.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur replied. He wiped his hands off on an old shirt – Merlin’s, by the look of it, but it had been a lost cause before the mud stains. Well, it had been a lost cause when Arthur had used it to mop up spilt wine the week prior.

“So you’re not getting married?” 

The two goats Merlin had on a lead had begun to start eating Arthur’s attempts at growing a vegetable patch. Merlin hadn’t teased Arthur nearly as much as he thought the man would when Arthur had first mentioned he’d wanted to give farming a try – at least, in a small capacity. He hadn’t been entirely helpful, and spent a good deal of time watching Arthur work, but he hadn’t been disparaging of Arthur’s efforts either and he’d answered some of Arthur’s unasked questions in a roundabout way that Arthur could pretend he’d known all along.

“Give those here,” Arthur snapped, tugging the rope leads from Merlin and dragging the beasts around to their new enclosure. “The innkeeper’s daughter told her father that I’d proposed after I tumbled her in the woods last Friday. And Saturday. She’ll be a bloody harpy about it if I denied it. This way, we have a year and a day handfast before I need to deal with it.”

“Arthur!”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur parroted back. “Do you want to leave now? We just bought goats.”

“So you’re not in love with her?”

Arthur’s laughter sent a flock of sparrows wheeling high into the sky. “Love? I don’t think I even know what that means anymore.”

“It’s not something to laugh about, Arthur. You know that girl’s head over heels for you,” Merlin said, and added with a grumble: “Most people are when you smile at them.”

“Merlin, are we really talking about this?” Arthur propped a hand on his waist. “Just because you don’t attract the fairer sex –“

“I do too,” Merlin objected.

“Married women who want to mother you and small children you entertain do not count,” Arthur returned, moving over to take a seat on the long bench resting alongside the small cottage. He hoped Merlin would drop the entire issue. He had never been fond of dissecting his emotional state, and much less of openly voicing associated revelations to all and sundry. Merlin in particular was a dangerous ear, because the man already knew far more about Arthur’s heart and state of mind than Arthur was entirely comfortable with.

“Arthur –“

“Look, marriage rarely has anything to do with love, Merlin,” Arthur said. He rested his elbows on his knees, staring up at Merlin’s frown. “Love is a fantasy that very few can afford to indulge in. At best, I will find someone I can abide by, an independent woman who has her own aspirations and who isn’t bothered by my gangly friend always popping by. At worst, I’ll have an expensive lay on hand for a few months before the two of us are off.”

“That is an incredible sad outlook,” Merlin said. “You found love once.”

Arthur ran a hand across his knee in an attempt to clean off a phantom smudge. He had been looking forward to spending the evening teaching an unwilling Merlin how to properly throw knives, finally. As much as the man’s magic could aid him, that was no excuse in Arthur’s eyes for not knowing the basics. 

He knew that Merlin meant well. He always did. For all Merlin knew Arthur though, he certainly had a terrible habit of picking at the one thing Arthur wanted to ignore.

“I married once,” Arthur said. His fingers had laced together and his eyes were trained on Merlin’s boots. He should have stopped this whole handfast nonsense when the girl had first started it – if he had, he’d never have had to deal with Merlin starting this damn conversation. “Guinevere and I – I was very fond of Guinevere.”

What he and Gwen had was complicated, and at the time confusing, and sometimes painful. They had weathered storms together. She had borne the brunt of it all as no woman he could have hoped would. Arthur had arrested her for witchcraft and done nothing to save her; he had arrested her father who had died as a result, and Arthur had the gall to say the man all but had it coming for trying to escape, innocent though he was. The man she loved had walked willingly into his death to spare Arthur at her request. The fact that she could even stand to be near him still was something that confounded him, looking back on those years.

Perhaps it had been only because he was all she had left.

True, through Merlin and Morgana he had come to appreciate the girl as a friend; over time he had held onto that connection more and more tightly as things had spiralled out of his control. It had been a perplexing ball of emotions that he had never known how to navigate, and even when he thought he’d made steps in the right direction, that maybe in her he could find the queen his father had found in Igraine – all it had taken was a single doubt to banish her from the kingdom without defence. 

They had found companionship, fondness and respect, but Guinevere had been forever changed by her experiences. Gone, was the good-hearted, soft-spoken maid. In her place stood a queen forged from repeated heartbreak at his hands, determined to play the role each crack had carved for her. He had loved her as well as anyone, even as it had felt at the time like he had no other choice but to offer her the world for what he had dragged her through. She was the right choice to leave holding Camelot – it was her kingdom from the start.

Whether it had been Merlin’s idealised idea of true love, Arthur wasn’t convinced. What he did know was that he had come to the understanding with himself that he was never going to get swept up in anything like that ever again. Besides, it wasn’t as though he could spend the rest of his life with anyone, even if he were so inclined to chase love.

He had Merlin for company – anyone else was just pleasure.

“Don’t worry about me, Merlin,” Arthur said. He pushed to his feet and ruffled a hand through Merlin’s hair as he past. “Worry about that throwing arm of yours.”

**::**

“ _Who_ is it you are here to see?” the receptionist asked.

Arthur realised he didn’t know. He’d never asked Merlin what name he was living under this time around. He’d been so caught up in himself that he hadn’t cared to learn anything about Merlin’s life. He was amazed at himself that he hadn’t already researched everything he could have about the scant details Merlin had slipped him. Arthur’s eyes darted across the pigeon holes behind the desk, hoping for some indication - Merlin had never been very creative with his identities, there had to be _something_.

_Bishop. Carrick. Cavall. Gunter. McCormick. Perdu. Touya._

Cavall.

Arthur gave the man at the desk a small smile, thinking of lazy summers and sneaking scraps to the kennels. Merlin had always had a soft spot for Arthur’s dogs. “Doctor Cavall.”

The man scanned his files. “Doctor Cavall is with a patient at the moment –“

“That’s alright, I’ll wait,” Arthur said easily. The man shrugged, gesturing to the undersized chairs in the waiting room. 

Arthur did his best over the next hour not to feel self-conscious surrounded by the bright colours and parade of small children making their way in and out of the waiting room. After the first ten minutes of sitting awkwardly on seats three inches too short, Arthur had opted for leaning against the wall. He resolutely ignored the flying unicorn painted on the wall to his right. There was a moment, about forty three minutes in, when a man had emerged from the back hall to speak with the receptionist. He had shot a look over at Arthur with a frown and Arthur had done his best not to look like a suspicious lurker.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, and Arthur could no longer pretend to ignore his surroundings.

“No,” Arthur said with what he hoped was a disarming smile and not a malformed grimace. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’ll be out shortly.”

It was nearing the fourth hour that Arthur’s patience wore thin. The receptionist had changed over since he had first arrived, and he had watched the handover where the man had gestured towards Arthur and the petite brunette replacing him had taken note. Arthur had watched four doctors come in and check their pigeon-holes, including the one he’d first seen who shot him another confused look before disappearing with a young boy in an arm cast. 

Merlin knew Arthur was waiting for him, and clearly Merlin was avoiding him.

The girl at the desk looked up as he approached. Arthur tried to ignore the fact that her hand had automatically gone to the phone’s autodial. Yes, he was lurking around a children’s hospital, but _really_. All he wanted was to see Merlin. 

“I would like to see Doctor Cavall,” Arthur said.

“Sir, do you have a scheduled appointment?”

“No. I’m an old friend. I just need to speak with him.”

“I’ll see if he’s available,” the girl said. “May I ask your name?”

“Arthur. Arthur Pend.”

She lifted the handset of her phone, keeping an eye on him as she did so. “Doctor Cavall, there is an Arthur Pend here to see you. Yes. Arthur. No, it’s not…he says he’s an old friend. Yes, the same.” Arthur frowned as he saw the small crease form between her eyebrows. “I will do,” she replied before she hung up. Arthur took a step back as he noticed her hand press a button at the phone’s base as she replaced the handset.

“Sir,” she began, and Arthur already knew that Merlin had refused to see him. 

“Is he in there now? You called his office?” Arthur asked. His eyes darted to the hallway to the right of the desk, to the long line of doors that might be hiding Merlin right now.

“What is this about?” The doctor that had been frowning at Arthur emerged from the hallway, shooting the receptionist a glance before levelling his stare on Arthur. “Who are you?”

“Arthur Pend. Look, all I want is to talk to Cavall.”

“I’m listening,” the doctor said in a voice that was too measured, too placating.

“I’m not…” Arthur started before a motion behind him had him turning. Two men in security uniforms slowly moved into the room. “God, I’m going to kill him.” The security team’s hands went to their utility belts and Arthur realised he had said that far louder than he had intended.

“I’ll go.” Arthur raised his hands slowly. “Clearly there has been a misunderstanding. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

The walk to the front doors was flanked by the security teams doing their best to look like they weren’t silently corralling him out of the building and felt far less dignified than any walk Arthur had taken in years.

“Arthur, what are you –“

Arthur stopped at the sound of Merlin’s voice. He took a moment to censor himself. “If I could have a moment of your time,” he said carefully rather than frogmarching Merlin from the building by his ear. Arthur turned slowly to face Merlin, taking in the crisp button down rolled up his forearms and dark pressed trousers. 

Merlin’s eyes had narrowed but he nodded, waving off the security. “It’s alright, boys. There’s been a misunderstanding. I’ll file an incident report with you before I leave,” Merlin said with a disarming grin. It was ridiculous, really, how quickly the two men returned his smile and backed off - they stayed within sight, however, and Arthur found himself adding: “Outside.”

“Arthur…”

Arthur ignored him and pushed open the doors, waiting expectantly for Merlin to follow. Merlin let out a long breath but moved to join him nonetheless. 

“You knew I was here,” Arthur said once they were alone.

Merlin looked a bit uncomfortable, but gave a tight nod nonetheless. “I didn’t know why.”

“You didn’t know –“ Arthur threw up a hand in frustration. “What reason would I –“

“You could have had a child you were –“

Arthur levelled a hard stare at him until he stopped speaking. “If you didn’t want to see me, you could have had the decency to tell me that when you were done with the patient you were with when I arrived. _Four hours_ , Merlin.”

“What patient? Arthur, I’ve been catching up on records all day.” Merlin paused, studying Arthur’s face. Whatever he found there made Arthur feel suddenly self-conscious in a way he hadn’t felt in ages. “You _didn’t_. His name is _Patrick_ , Arthur. Patrick Cavall. He’s from Dunbar.” 

“I thought –“

“That I would name myself after your _dog_?” Merlin said. And when Merlin said it, Arthur had to admit it sounded a bit ridiculous, but he refused to let that derail him from his real and utterly legitimate reason to be angry. “For the…you didn’t even run a bloody _internet_ search. You’re unbelievable.”

Arthur crossed his arms. “You knew I was here. You could have come out sooner.”

“You don’t like it when I do that; you’ve said it often enough.”

“Right, you only do it when it suits you, then,” Arthur snapped. “ _That’s_ what I don’t like, Merlin.”

Merlin stared at him in silence before he threw up his hands. “What do you think this is, Arthur? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was in the city. I’m sorry that I wanted to see how you were doing – I admit I went about it in the wrong way, but I didn’t think you’d want to see me. I won’t do it again. You can have your life, Arthur, I won’t bother you again. Go. Get drunk, vacation in the Bahamas, marry some waitress or rocket scientist or heiress. Do whatever you want with your life, but let me live _mine_. That’s what you told me to do, isn’t it?”

Arthur was acutely aware of the eyes and the cameras that surrounded them. “I’m sorry, Merlin,” he said softly. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to saying. In fact, he’s fairly certain he could list the number of times he’s said those words and meant them to Merlin on one hand. The wide-eyed look Merlin shot Arthur made something that felt a bit like guilt strip through him. “I’m going to be in the hills tomorrow at dawn. I…if you…” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course now would be the time he couldn’t say what he meant. _We need to talk, Merlin_ , he could say. _You might be able to live like this, but it seems like a pretty shite deal to me. And yeah, maybe that’s on me. And maybe this is all part of some cosmic joke, but I can’t lose you._ “Look, if you want to call it quits…I can’t leave it like this.”

There was a moment when Merlin said nothing and Arthur dropped his hand, staring back at Merlin with tired eyes. Perhaps Merlin would read the offer of neutral ground as Arthur intended it. Perhaps he wouldn’t care how it was intended. Arthur regretted that Merlin had somehow become difficult to read in his absence. He didn’t like it. There were a hell of a lot of things about this that he didn’t like.

“If you come back here, I’m fairly certain you’ll be arrested.” 

There still wasn’t enough on Merlin’s face to give Arthur anything to work from. Somehow, Arthur felt like he was standing atop a precipice, waiting for Merlin’s judgement. “Yes, I got that impression,” Arthur replied.

“William Bishop,” Merlin said as he turned away. “Get some sleep, you look like you could use it.”

“Is that a professional opinion, Doctor Bishop?” Arthur called after him. He hadn’t left his precipice entirely behind, but the edge was a good few metres away at that moment.

“Go home, Arthur.”

**::**

There was something about hiking up the hills and crags of Holyrood park that Arthur found soothing. He often joined the frequent joggers making the park their own personal gauntlet, dodging dogs and hares that darted across, heedless of paths. Arthur had been up these hills in every sort of weather - when the mist was settled low and the visibility was reduced to no more than a few metres in any direction, when the sun scorched the rocks and he’d dragged up his own weight again in water, and when the rain pelted the skin like ice.

It was dawn he liked best. 

There was a low cloud that caught the top half of the twin peaked hill aptly known as Arthur’s Seat, and Arthur had camped out with a blanket on a small green ledge just under the higher of the summits. Every so often the phantom bark of a dog filtered through the white mist as he waited. Merlin hadn’t said that he would come. If Arthur was honest with himself, Arthur was solely relying on hope that he would, really. 

It wasn’t the worst place to wait for someone. The air was fresh, and the Scottish moss-covered ground made for a comfortable seat. On a clear day, Arthur could see out past the Firth of Forth and watch the ships coming in to harbour, or watch the tourists across on Carlon Hill posing with the Folly. In a few hours, the sun would be high enough to break the fog, but by then Arthur would be back in his office drawing up proposals and fielding calls from contractors.

The shift of gravel on the path behind him was the first warning Arthur had that he wasn’t alone on his perch before Merlin broke through the mists. He stood silently over Arthur, his hands shoved into his oversized anorak. Arthur shifted over on the thick tartan blanket he’d brought up with him. 

“You couldn’t have picked a more obnoxious place than Arthur’s Seat, could you,” Merlin said. He still hadn’t sat down, and Arthur didn’t much like staring up at him.

“I wanted to make it easy for you to find me,” Arthur said. It was meant only as a mild dig, but Arthur was still sore over Merlin’s extended silence over the years. “For god’s sake, sit down - unless you only showed up to storm off again. I don’t want to fight with you.” He was _determined_ not to fight with him.

Merlin’s mouth tightened briefly but he took a few stiff steps forward and sunk to the ground on Arthur’s right.

“Did you ever make it to Cape Canaveral?” Arthur asked. He poured a measure of coffee from the flask he’d brought up for the wait. When he offered the small cup to Merlin, he tried not to smile as the other man’s fingers wrapped around the plastic.

“Why?” Merlin asked as he sniffed at the dark liquid.

“You always seemed so interested in the Space Race,” Arthur said. Rather than try to discern what thoughts were crossing Merlin’s face, Arthur chose instead to peer out through the fog as though if he tried hard enough, he’d be able to see as far as Aberdour, if not only as far as Waverly Station. It was still thick – though he fancied he could see a bit of the sky to the west in a thin patch. “I thought you might’ve gone to see a launch at least. At some point.”

“So that’s what we’re going to do? Sit here and catch up on forty-odd years? Like we’re old mates?” Merlin snorted.

“Aren’t we?” Arthur asked. He glanced across at Merlin. They could do this.

Merlin stared back with an expression in his eyes that seemed part searching and part lost. It took a moment longer than Arthur was comfortable with for Merlin to respond with one of his tight nods.

“We’ve fought before, Merlin,” Arthur said softly. “The gods know, it’s not easy being with someone for as long as – “ He didn’t know what to say, not really – the words got tangled up on his tongue or pushed out when he’d meant to be silent. Arthur wanted to hurl his flask into the white. He’d never gotten any better at this sort of thing, but Merlin was worth making an effort for. He rallied. “You always let me know where you were, before. All I needed was time.”

“And in a few years there would have been something else. Maybe I didn’t want to fight anymore. Maybe I’d had enough time.” Merlin buried his face in the ridiculous cup. When he surfaced, it was to make a face at the contents before throwing the coffee out over the ledge. Arthur didn’t blame him – he’d never been very good at making coffee to begin with. Or cooking. Or dancing, for that matter. 

Arthur wasn’t certain how he wanted to respond to that. Part of him had gone cold at the thought that they really had ruined everything. Part of him wanted to grab Merlin by the scruff of the neck and shake him until he let go of whatever ridiculous notions he had rattling about in his giant head. What he did know was that he wasn’t giving up on Merlin, and after this, Arthur was ready to chase him across the world to get his friend back.

“You’re an idiot,” Arthur said, because it was true, though perhaps not entirely helpful.

Merlin snorted. “You don’t even know why we fought, do you?”

“Enlighten me,”

“It’s not important anymore,” Merlin raised a hand out towards the wall of white, pulling his fingers through the air as though opening a curtain. In their wake, the cloud shifted and moved to the east, bringing the early morning sun to their hillside.

“It is to you,” Arthur said. He had never really gotten used to Merlin’s magic – it still awed him every damn time he saw Merlin do something so impossible with such ease. “I don’t know why you assume that means it’s not to me.”

“You can survive in a normal life, Arthur. You don’t…” Merlin’s jaw clenched. He rubbed a hand against his forehead. ”I tried to give you one, I did. Every time, I tried. You remember the years in Nottingham. You married a girl named Elizabeth. You worked with the constabulary and I helped keep the books for the green grocer’s. We went for weeks without having a proper conversation. The time you spent four years touring the East Indies because you heard something about komodo dragons and wanted to go hunting. I –“

“You were a teacher; you said you loved your work. You wouldn’t have wanted to come. And we went back, later with that Burden fellow, you didn’t miss anything. I don’t see where –“

“You were so excited when you got back, Arthur.” Merlin spread his hands wide. “You hadn’t even told me you were leaving, not until the day before you were due to go. _I shan’t see you tomorrow, my good fellow, I’m due at the docks before dawn or they’ll leave without me._ What was I supposed to say? I _did_ love it. My job, the students – that’s not…”

That was a _terrible_ impressionof him, Arthur thought grumpily. “You dragged me into a war with Napoleon after that. We spent twelve years in that mire. Why?” 

Merlin spun to face Arthur. “Because you _needed_ me. In conflict, in great world-changing events, _you needed me_. It felt…it felt like home.”

“That’s why? Every time I had to go kill men by the score, or sit for weeks in muddy foxholes, it was because you were homesick.” Arthur had a slew of things he wanted to add to that, but he remembered that wasn’t what this was about, not entirely. He _was not_ starting a fight.

“That’s not what I -” Merlin shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not…it’s taken awhile, but I finally got it. You walked away, Arthur. You were always walking away. So congratulations, you made it.”

 _Yes, I walked away,_ Arthur thought. _Why didn’t you come after me?_  
  
“So that’s it, then,” Arthur asked instead. “This is you, trying to have a ‘normal life’ because you think what we had was…what?”

“You said it yourself, that night at your flat,” Merlin said tiredly. “It was complicated, it was misshapen and I never knew why until you left me.”  
__  
_All I ever wanted was for you to look at me and see Arthur,_ he thought, his eyes tracing the flush of Merlin’s cheeks and the way the man’s hair spiked through his fingers where Merlin was resting his head. _When I first met you, you were the only one who ever did._  
  
“Do you -” Arthur frowned, remembering Merlin’s words that night. His eyes watched a distant container ship in the harbour for a moment before he continued. “Did you love me?”

There was silence, and Arthur turned to look at Merlin. Merlin stared back. 

“You said it was love, not destiny that kept you at my side. Merlin –“ Arthur needed an answer, but he wasn’t sure what having it would mean.

“You’re angry,” Merlin said with a slight smirk. 

“Why would I be angry?” He was though, Arthur realised after Merlin had said it. Not that Merlin might have loved him, or might have wanted to sleep with him – those thoughts he would manage later. Not even that Merlin _might not_ any longer. Arthur was angry that if it were to be true, he had never known. Hundreds of years, and hundreds of lives, and there had been one more glaring truth about Merlin that Arthur had be oblivious to. Angry that he didn’t know if the knowledge would have changed anything, or if they would still be where they were now, except maybe worse. If that would still be his fault. 

He must have known, on some level.

“You are, though.” Merlin laced his arms about his knees loosely, the cheap plastic lid-cup dangling from his long fingers. “I know your tells, Arthur. They’ve never changed. It’s going to be a beautiful day, today. I think I might visit Dalgety – best fish and chips around.”

“Merlin –“

“I never hid it,” Merlin said calmly. He wasn’t avoiding Arthur’s eyes and Arthur couldn’t read him as easily as Merlin seemed to be able to read Arthur. And that, in turn, made Arthur more frustrated. “It’s alright, Arthur. I’m a bit surprised, though I suppose with regards to you, I shouldn’t be.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arthur said tightly.

“Just how _did_ you defeat that dragon, Sire?” Merlin pushed his cup back at Arthur. “More’s the blessing William of Ockham wasn’t born early enough to be your tutor, I’d have been made well into my first week - though, you’ve had enough concussions over the years I’m surprised you still have motor skills, let alone deductive reasoning.”

“Trust me, your ineptitude and clumsiness was a far easier sell than magical talent,” Arthur muttered.

“I was rarely clumsy.”

“There are a good number of things you were rarely,” Arthur countered. “Punctual. Neat. Respectful.”

“Useless. Wrong.”

Arthur quirked a smile. “Keep in touch, Merlin. Don’t just...” Arthur waved a hand vaguely. “And for what it’s worth, I...apologise.”

“That covers all manner of sin.”

“It’s meant to. Apparently there are a number of them.”

Merlin climbed to his feet, brushing off his trousers as he said, “With you, there always are.”

“I’m not angry at you, Merlin,” Arthur said. Merlin shot him an indecipherable look and Arthur added, “I think you’re a terrible judge of character, if you did – but I would never -”

“It’s alright, Arthur,” Merlin said. When Arthur glanced up at him, Merlin offered him a half smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”

**::**

The year is 1513 and Arthur has long since lost track of how many years lie between Camlann and now. The Italian sun is low enough on the horizon that the sky is bruised purple and red in the fading light. The wine is finer than Arthur remembers ever having. 

He can’t remember how it started, but he’s fairly sure it had something to do with the heat and the damnable hosen that everyone seems to insist on wearing. Arthur hasn’t seen a woman in weeks. They were somewhere in the mountains, in the north of Italy nearer to the French border than to Milan or Florence – where Arthur had wanted to stay. They’d likely head back there once Merlin tired of whatever he had got in his head, but until then, Arthur was forced to while away his days wearing indecently tight clothing, drinking wine and trying not to go out of his mind.

The lad was pretty, with almond shaped eyes and hair the colour of wheat. He came often to the small villa, bearing food and supplies from the closest town and carrying messages when they needed to have contact with the rest of civilization. He was just bold enough that there was no mistaking the invitation being offered - and Arthur had just enough wine and boredom that the idea of shoving the boy up against the nearest wall and getting his end off however he could had seemed like a fine idea.

Over the next month, they had a total of four fumbled exchanges during the long hours Merlin spent at the local monastery, and Arthur had enjoyed himself immensely – particularly when after the first, the lad had started bringing extra selections of smoked meats and cheeses with their weekly hamper. Arthur had never taken the time to learn the boy’s name. He’s not particularly convinced the boy knows Arthur’s either. He thinks Merlin rented the villa under the name of one of the minor, southern nobles, claiming to be a fourth son dedicated to academics. 

In the evenings when Merlin came home, looking tired but content from a day surrounded by boring old men, he always seemed delighted by the surprise delicacies in their cold storage. All in all, Arthur felt that the arrangement suited everyone quite well. 

When Merlin had stumbled in the door early one day while the boy’s hand was working away at Arthur’s cock…that was the last Arthur saw of him. The boy ran faster than a jack rabbit, and Arthur was left frustrated and hard with no one but Merlin for company. He broke a jug in a fit and finished himself off unashamedly where he stood. They stayed on for three more days before moving on to Florence.

Merlin hadn’t said anything to him about the incident. Arthur spent his first four days in the city bedding every girl that smiled his way. Merlin hadn’t said anything about that, either.

**::**

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his eyes and took a slow breath. “I can’t sign off on this site until we go over the work, you know that.”

He’d arrived at an old estate home undergoing renovations sometime midmorning, just as the Scottish skies had decided to start pissing down on the highlands. Despite clear instruction, and no doubt years of previous experience dealing with such routine processes, the contractors had decided to waste Arthur’s time by moving ahead with their schedule on the addition. It fell to Arthur to inform them that they had, in fact, delayed their schedule by being morons. They’d already had this conversation four times that morning – the man was just being obstinate. 

“You’re going to have to open this wall up again so I can see the electrical work. And I can already tell you that the roof doesn’t meet code - it’s not even a proper storm out there, and already there’s moisture building on that joist.” Arthur stuck his notepad and plans under one arm as he fumbled to pull out his mobile. “We’ll reschedule for some time next week. Hello, Arthur Pend,” Arthur answered as he turned away from the disgruntled contractor.

There was a clatter on the other end of the line and Arthur scratched his forehead under his hardhat as he waited. “Arthur?”

“Mer – William? Hold on, I’ve just got to make it to the car,” Arthur said as he nodded farewell to one of the builders. He squinted up at the sky before he made a dash for his grey Audi. Once inside again, he pressed his mobile to his ear. “Sorry, I was just finishing up an onsite meeting.”

“I don’t know why else you’d be up in Auchtermuchty,” Merlin’s voice came through dryly.

“I think I’m a bit closer to Strathmiglo,” Arthur said lightly. “But that’s not why you called, is it. Unless you want me to pick up a boar for you.” 

“Funny.” There was the sound of rustling papers and Arthur imagined Merlin sitting at a desk with his sleeves rolled as he sorted through the week’s files. “You said you wanted to stay in touch,” Merlin said after a moment.

“I rather hoped that indicated more than phone calls on your lunch break,” Arthur said. “But I’ll take them.” Arthur had already started mentally rescheduling his week. He knew his senior tech could take over on two of his meetings over the next few days, but he had a conference call at one on Thursday, and he really needed to call the contractor about the unsolicited changes they’d made to his design drawings -

“Good. My partner wants to meet you and I’ve run out of excuses,” Merlin said. “You’re coming to dinner.”

“Why, is she pretty?” Arthur’s mouth asked as his brain caught up with what Merlin had said. “Wait, at your place? Wait, _your partner_?”

“Don’t be an arse.”

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I’ll work on it. How do they know who I am?”

“You abducted me from a pub on short notice – dates usually notice that sort of thing,” Merlin said before he hung up.

 _You were on a date?_ Arthur stared at his mobile wondering just what had happened, letting his brain work it through slowly. Merlin hadn’t been on a date, there had only been…the dark hair man. But Merlin would have said something that night. _Unless he didn’t want you to know,_ Arthur thought.

It was ridiculous though, because if Merlin hadn’t wanted Arthur to know, he wouldn’t have brought his _date_ into a pub where he knew Arthur would be. Except, Arthur knew that Merlin had been settled in that pub well before he had arrived, and it really wasn’t fair of him to assume Merlin would up and leave on his behalf.

Arthur shook his head and determined not to think about it.

**::**

“Tomorrow, then!” Arthur calls down the hall, waving his hat as his companions retreat back to their own rooms for the night. 

The air is humid – hot even with the setting sun over the rainforests and Arthur unbuttons his collar one handed as he closes the thin door behind him. His shirt is only a thin white linen, but his body is unused to the climate of the region and sweat still beads across his skin even in the shade. He’s been here a month and a half, and already he’s dreaming of a British summer.

It had only taken twenty-five days to travel from Europe to Batavia built up on the Java Sea by the Dutch steamer. There had been some initial worry on Arthur’s part that it might take much longer than the ship’s captain had claimed – they were going half-way around the world, after all, across stormy waters in a tin boat with no sails – but Arthur was sure even Merlin would have been impressed at their progress.

He idly wished Merlin were on hand now. He’d grumble about it, but all it would take was a wave of his hand for Arthur to feel comfortable enough for a good night’s sleep or a nice crisp bath waiting at the end of a long slog through the wilderness. More than that though – had Merlin been with him, he knew he would have taken great delight in pulling Merlin into a headlock, pressing him close against Arthur’s filthy damp shirt and grinning down at Merlin’s attempts to free himself. He had so much to tell Merlin – more than a letter could ever contain, for Arthur didn’t have the patience to sit and scrawl out eighteen pages in this heat describing their trek out to the island of Flores with its volcanic lakes of red and blue and green. To describe the Sumatran tigers Arthur had stalked through the brush (and hadn’t killed, Merlin, I did listen) and the cubs he had wanted to bring home to him. Explain how if Merlin was here, Arthur would tease him about how his prattle reminded him of the macaques, and that Merlin was just as hansom as one.

How the ‘seven metre-long dragon that constantly spat fire’ was really only an overgrown iguana, smaller than a horse (and he hadn’t killed any of those either, Merlin).

Arthur regretted having supper that evening with the other men staying at this residence. It had been some local dish, swimming in spices, and Arthur swore it would take days to taste anything properly afterwards. He wondered what Merlin was eating. If he was feeding himself properly. Arthur had instructed him so before he’d left, but it was Merlin, for god’s sake, so perhaps he should have taken precautions – set up some young girl to be responsible for his welfare in Arthur’s absence. Someone had to be.

He wondered if Merlin had found anyone to spend his time with outside of the children he worked with. There had been a lovely young woman that taught in the girls school, Arthur thought as he threw open his shutters. He hoped there might be at least a little cool breeze; he was willing to risk a curious macaque in the night if it meant not having to sleep in a stuffy box. No, he’d always thought that girl was a bit too lovely. No one was that kind – best if Merlin stayed clear of her. Old Barnabas, the dog Arthur had rescued from the streets and whom Merlin was caring for in his absence, would be more than enough company.

Gods, he was tired.

Even the water in the pitcher next to his wash basin felt warm as Arthur drank deeply from it. He supposed he could have sent a request to the servants to fetch a cup, but he had long since begun feeling uncomfortable being waited on, and it wasn’t as though there was anyone about to see him. Well, being waited on by anyone other than Merlin, Arthur amended. Watching Merlin gripe about having to do Arthur’s laundry or waking him in the mornings were still some of Arthur favourite moments, rare though they were these days.

Arthur fished the small carving out of his pocket, setting it down on his writing desk with a small smile. He’d found it in the market earlier in the day and hadn’t been able to resist. It was a small monkey about the size of his thumb that one of the locals had carved from a piece of jade. They had exaggerated the ears and given the creature a cheeky little grin. Arthur had loved it instantly and overpaid the man by its value thrice over.

He frowned, reaching out to touch a small tin sitting in the centre of the desk which hadn’t been there just moments before. It was cold to the touch. “Merlin?” Arthur asked. He prised open the box. Inside there was a chunk of ice the size of Arthur’s hand wrapped in one of Merlin’s old handkerchiefs. “You beautiful man, where are you?” Arthur said, scanning the room. Merlin didn’t appear though, and Arthur tamped down on the unexpected wave of disappointment that washed over him. Merlin was busy in England, Arthur knew that. He hadn’t even allowed himself to include Merlin in this trip, because he knew how important this teaching job was to Merlin, and he knew Merlin might have felt obligated – no, would have – to drop everything and sail with Arthur.

But Arthur found in that instant that he missed Merlin fiercely.

He couldn’t though – it wouldn’t be fair to tell Merlin that. Part of his trip had been intended to give Merlin space, give himself space, to settle the simmering unrest that seemed to pull at him with regards to the man.

The next day, Arthur packed the little carved monkey away in the tin Merlin had sent with a thick sheaf of folded papers describing everything he could remember. _I always knew you loved me_ , Arthur wrote, _you never let me down, Old Boy_. In the end, he’d signed, _I’ll be home before you know it – All my Love, Arthur._ He’d stared at the letter for a long time once he’d finished, determined Merlin would forgive any errors in spelling he may have made in his haste and set out to find a ship that might carry his parcel to England and his missing warlock.

It took three more years for him to find his way home – there was always something fascinating to discover along the way, and he knew Merlin wouldn’t notice a few more months. If there was a part of Arthur that still hoped Merlin might show up at the next port town and join him, Arthur didn’t let his letters show it. They could live their own lives. Merlin deserved that chance. If Arthur slept with a few girls with flat chests and wide grins while he was gone, that was his own business.

**::**

His name was Neil. He had dark hair and a nose that had once been broken. The shirt he wore was plain; a white button down that he had tucked into his trousers, the top two buttons open and the sleeves rolled. Arthur liked him. Arthur hated that he liked him. 

Arthur watched the man unpacking socks through the window of the tweed shop on Victoria. His motions were confident, and there was a strength in those forearms that even Arthur could see. He looked dependable. Despite the fact his job wasn’t glamorous, and likely didn’t pay overly well, at least he had one. That, at least, meant it was less likely he was after Merlin for his money. Though, Merlin’s wages were rather impressive if Arthur remembered his statistics correctly. Clearly it was only a matter of time before Arthur would know Neil’s nefarious motives in certainty.

Realistically, Arthur knew he should just talk to Merlin about it. He didn’t have any grounds to, other than the unease in his stomach, but Merlin had never hidden a lover before. Arthur had always _known_ when Merlin was taking someone to bed. Unless he hadn’t, Arthur thought with a frown. Merlin had always spent an awful lot of time under the pretence of studying new ideas and technologies, and they had spent a good few years here and there with _freethinkers_ – Arthur himself knew first-hand what sort of things one could get up to unsupervised surrounded by liberal thinkers. They’d spent a handful of months with a group of libertines in Paris, and Arthur _knew_ Merlin had attracted more than his fair share of attention in the early sixties – he’d never seen Merlin slip away with anyone, but he’d kept a watchful eye on a blond draft dodger from California that always seemed to sit a little too close. Neil moved to the window, checking a small placard next to a mannequin’s foot. 

Had he missed something? They had almost always lived together, and when they hadn’t, they’d had wives. Merlin had never sneaked out for secret rendezvous – it had always been Arthur that had been the one to steal away in the night. And Merlin always knew, because Arthur hadn’t ever thought to lie about it. 

Granted, Merlin hadn’t actually lied about having a lover. Arthur had never thought to ask. When he’d called and said he had a partner, Arthur had just assumed it was a woman, because it always had been before. But if Merlin had once loved Arthur, surely he’d had male lovers somewhere in the mix. So Merlin wasn’t really hiding Neil,but why did it still feel like he’d been lied to? This was ridiculous.

And he wasn’t spying on Merlin’s mystery _partner -_ he was debating whether it was time for him to be fitted for a new suit jacket. Just because he might need one. Potentially.

His mobile went off and he glanced down at it absently.

_Go home, Arthur._

Arthur stared at the message for a moment. _He’s folding socks,_ Arthur thumbed back. And then immediately regretted it.

_Go. Home._

When Arthur turned and walked down the street, he told himself it was because he needed milk from Sainsbury’s, and not at all because Merlin had ordered him off.

**::**

They spend part of the early twenties in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Merlin makes ample use of their time chatting to everyone he can at Harvard and gets invited to far more summer lectures than his supposed discipline merited. Arthur makes no secret of his interest in their athletics department, and often spent his days training with the young men who spoke of hopes to represent their country in Paris at the 1924 games. He had joined the university’s rugby team, and that had dictated his time ever after.

Arthur can’t help himself. His blood is pumping hot in his veins and the thrill of a good fight is coursing through him better than any rush known to man. He has so much adrenaline in his system that all that energy needs to go _somewhere_ \- so when one of Arthur’s teammates fists his hands in Arthur’s tunic after a particularly good match, and Arthur finds himself backed up against the wall in the abandoned dressing room, he gives as good as he gets. There is nothing soft about the man’s mouth against Arthur’s, and there is no quarter in the hands that push and pull to get what they need from each other. It’s the battle rush all over again, and Arthur can’t get enough.

Merlin finds him afterwards, a grin on his face that slowly fades as Arthur combs hands hastily through mussed hair and tucks in his shirttails. He’d likely got tired of waiting outside the library, and Arthur had certainly lost track of the time. It’s alright though, Arthur thinks, he’ll take Merlin out for an early dinner down by the river and the next day they’ll take a trip up to Salem so Merlin can lose himself talking to the eccentric locals.

He knows that Merlin has some sort of judgement he holds back in situations like this – they’ve had enough run ins over the years that Arthur would have to be blind not to recognise the look that pinches Merlin’s face before he can hide it. He never says a word, though, and Arthur’s never pinned him down to answer for it. He’s not sure he wants to know exactly what Merlin thinks of him now, after all these years – if he’s finally managed to tarnish the image of himself that Merlin has always seemed to hold on a pedestal. A part of him wants that to be the case, to finally prove to Merlin that he’s only ever been just a man – but another part, a small, self-conscious piece of Arthur whispers that he needs the way Merlin looks at him sometimes. The look in Merlin’s eyes that says Arthur could face armies with nothing but a stick in hand and come out victorious. Like Merlin’s never known a better man, and never will. No one has ever looked at Arthur like Merlin has. He cannot lose that.

Merlin is the one constant in his life, and has always been his better half; disappointing Merlin is like disappointing himself, and that is why he will never ask Merlin to judge him – Arthur already suspects he will be found wanting.

“The stubble burn is going to be hard to explain,” Merlin mutters, pushing Arthur’s abandoned effects against Arthur’s chest until Arthur grabs them. “You should lie low for a few days.”

“Rubbish,” Arthur laughs. “Men get worse than this in practice. What do you say to a picnic?” Arthur throws an arm around his shoulders and avoids both the mirror and Merlin’s eyes.

**::**

Merlin lived in a flat on Simpson Loan, a modern glass condo residence juxtaposed between old stone buildings on the north end of the Meadows, not ten minutes walk from Grassmarket. Arthur had consulted on the proposal for the ten storey flats, on their impact in relation to Old Town and the phase two construction of the Quartermile complex nearby - though he supposed Merlin likely wouldn’t be overly impressed that Arthur knew the particulars of masonry choices and the flashing that had gone into construction.

He wasn’t surprised that Merlin had chosen to live in one of the newer buildings in the city. Unlike Arthur, Merlin had always loved watching the world shift around them, chasing new ideas and new discoveries around the globe. It made sense. It was just across the Meadows from his work, he certainly didn’t need to worry about ancient plumbing or rotting ceiling joists in a new building, and he wouldn’t have to worry about resale if he wanted to leave in a hurry. The fact that it was in Arthur’s backyard, Arthur assumed he was just meant to overlook.

“You must be Arthur,” Neil said with a smile and a handshake as he opened the door of Merlin’s flat. “Will has told me a great deal about you.”

“I’ve heard next to nothing about you,” Arthur said as he passed his jacket off into Neil’s waiting hands. He didn’t like Merlin’s alias choice. Arthur had resolutely kept his name mostly intact for long term identities, with the exception of the eight years he’d once sailed under the name Captain John Bryce. Merlin had crafted the identity papers with a flash of his eyes while they were on the docks, and Arthur hadn’t much say in the matter. He always preferred when Merlin went by something easier to remember or explain away when Arthur inevitably fumbled it, like Martin.

Neil laughed good-naturedly and Arthur caught Merlin’s unimpressed stare over the man’s shoulder. “I did want to thank you for helping Will out that night at the bar – I admit I’m not much of a brawler, but you seem to have had things in hand before I even had time to stand.”

“Yes, well. He’s always been a bit useless in a fight,” Arthur lied easily. He’d said he’d try to not be an arse – he feared it might not be as easy as he had anticipated.

Arthur ignored Merlin’s frown and ambled further into the flat, having a look ‘round without trying to seem obvious about it. It didn’t look much like Merlin, really. The furniture was all modern and squared off like some designer’s manual and the art on the walls were monotone abstracts that faded into the background if you didn’t stare at them directly. It looked a bit, Arthur thought, like it had perhaps come with the flat. If perhaps Merlin had kept it because it was what he thought he was meant to have for the lifestyle he had assumed. Arthur thought back to his own flat, full of cast offs from charity shops. He winced inwardly. He really should toss everything and march himself and Merlin off to do a proper shop for things they honestly liked. Somehow he didn’t think Merlin would appreciate it.

“Nice place, _Will_ iam,” Arthur said instead. He couldn’t help but add: “Did you pick it out yourself?”

“Neil helped me get sorted when I moved,” Merlin said from the kitchen. “He has a much better sense of design than I would have, and since we’re sharing the space, I felt it was only fair.”

Arthur was willing to bet Merlin just hadn’t thought of what he might need – they’d jumped around so often in the past that Arthur knew Merlin had become quite adept at conjuring the basics from scraps. What it really meant was that he and Neil had been together before Merlin had made the move. He darted a look across at the open concept kitchen were Neil had pulled Merlin in from the side and pressed a kiss against his temple. Arthur swallowed and forced himself to move slowly to the large kitchen island where a few trays had been arranged with charcuterie and cheeses.

Honestly. It was as though he was being treated as an actual guest in Merlin’s home. Arthur stabbed a few rolls of meat on a tasteful metal skewer intended for such purpose and tried not to imagine using it in a less savoury manner. 

Neil, it turned out, was a consummate host and excellent chef, and Arthur found it exceedingly easy to fall into conversation with the man. He managed to, if not forget, then at least ignore Merlin’s narrowed gaze as he laughed along with the man recounting a truly spectacular blunder at the match between Edinburgh Rugby and Glasgow Warriors over the weekend. If a few of the tales Arthur told in return were borrowed from his own experiences decades prior, only Merlin knew.

As far as Arthur was concerned, he had been the perfect mate Merlin had wanted him to be by the end of the night. He’d even been invited to have Neil’s extra season tickets whenever his sister couldn’t make it out, since Merlin had begged off ever entering the stadium after the first time. Arthur had shot Merlin a grin and a questioning look at that.

“I’ve never much liked rugby,” Merlin had said. Merlin cut off Arthur’s response by getting to his feet, saying, “Right, anyone for tea?”

Merlin had always been front and centre at Arthur’s games, Arthur remembered as he watched Merlin open cabinet doors until Neil laughed and found the teapot for him. Even when he’d been in a snit at Arthur, he’d never missed a game. There was a tightness to Merlin’s shoulders now as he moved, and Arthur knew Merlin must be having as much difficulty dealing with having Arthur around again as Arthur was. He knew when Merlin was lying and when he was deflecting – and he knew that he could utterly ruin Merlin’s current life with a careless word.

“I think I should head out,” Arthur said. There was a flash of something like relief that passed across Merlin’s face when he met Arthur’s eye. “I’ve got a site visit at eight tomorrow,” he lied without much trouble, getting to his feet. There was something uncomfortable building in his chest and he knew he needed to get out before he said something he would regret.

“You’re not at all like I expected,” Neil said, shaking Arthur’s hand firmly.

“I suppose, knowing William, that’s a compliment,” Arthur said.

“Are you going to see him to the street?” Neil turned to Merlin, who looked a bit startled.

“I’m sure he’s capable of finding his way,” Merlin said. “I mean, he did find his way up.”

“I don’t know, _Will_ iam,” Arthur said cheekily. “One of your neighbours on the third level leered at me on the way in. They might be lying in wait for my exit.” Merlin shot him a glare, but shoved on a pair of loafers after a ‘ _go on_ ,’ and a slight push from Neil.

“Are you really going to start hanging out with him?” Merlin asked the moment the lift doors shut.

“Why, do you think it would be weird?” Arthur asked. He shoved his hands in his pocket and leaned back against the wall of the lift.

He grinned as Merlin shot him an incredulous look. “Of course it would be weird!”

“Why?” Arthur shrugged one shoulder. “If you’re going to marry the bloke, I’d like to know him –“

“No one said anything about marriage,” Merlin snapped. The doors swished open with an easy glide and Merlin paced out, waiting expectantly for Arthur to saunter after.

“You’re allowed to now, you know that. You don’t have to hide anything anymore. I mean, in a religious institution and the eyes of the law.” Arthur wasn’t sure why he hadn’t dropped it, but he couldn’t help himself. “If you love him. Even if you don’t, I suppose. He’s a good man.”

“I know he is,” Merlin said tightly. The night air was fresh without a hint of rain on the breeze. Arthur watched with a sort of detachment as Merlin’s eyes flashed in irritation, taking him in with a strange mixture of regret and pride and something he couldn’t quite name. “You know, if I loved someone, I would do it in the Old Way. I don’t need a bloody law or social justification. I don’t know why we’re even –“

Arthur had never thought it would feel so right pressing his lips against Merlin’s. How easy it was to shift closer and feel the soft hair between his fingers as they curled around Merlin’s neck. He’d never allowed himself to even imagine tasting Merlin – he hadn’t needed to, because Merlin had always been his, without question. Never lost, never far from hand. Any change to their relationship was unthinkable, because they worked so well together that anything else risked just being a disaster. And though he had never recognised just what it was before, the idea that Merlin might have shifted his love to someone else because Arthur was an utter twat was unbearable.

That nebulous feeling that had existed around Merlin, that had made discerning anything remotely verging on true affection toward anyone else seem pale in comparison – Arthur thought he understood it now. Arthur’s dazed revelation gave him no time to block Merlin’s fist. His head snapped to the right and he staggered to keep his balance. His hand rose to touch his jaw gingerly. 

“Ow,” Arthur stated. Merlin looked like he wanted to give it another go, but he held himself in check, fists clenched and fuming in the night air. 

“I’m going back to my flat, Arthur,” Merlin said. “When you’ve stopped being such an arse –“

“I didn’t mean –“

“Yes, you did. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I thought I was kissing you,” Arthur said. “Clearly they’ve changed things since I last tried it.”

“Fuck off, Arthur. You were right back then, I can’t trail after you forever. I can’t be alone anymore, and you’re trying to ruin the only thing I have left because, what? You think I’d still let you?”

“Do you mean to tell me,” Arthur’s hand darted forward to stop Merlin from leaving, but his hand hit an invisible wall. Merlin didn’t make a move to leave though, so Arthur just shook his hand roughly and continued. “You mean to tell me if I had kissed you fifty years ago, or a hundred, or a thousand, it would have been fine – but because I did now, this moment, it’s suddenly wrong?”

“The point is that you didn’t,” Merlin said, and Arthur was genuinely anticipating another swing from the tension in Merlin’s thin frame. “And you know why you didn’t then and you would now. You’re not in love with me, Arthur. I’m the constant thorn in your side and the only one who would put up with you. You would rather have the hands of a fucking cabin boy on you or bloody rugby player or _anyone in the world_ over mine.”

“I think you’re the only one I’ve ever been in love with,” Arthur said softly. Merlin stared blankly at Arthur and Arthur swallowed hard. He knew once he’d said it, it was quite likely the truest thing he had ever said, and the thought terrified him. He dropped his eyes to the ground, unable to keep staring at Merlin and feeling like a fucking coward for it. “You need to get back in there,” he muttered. “He’ll think we were both abducted by the old lady on three.”

When Merlin still said nothing, Arthur gave a short nod and walked away. There was nothing more that he could say. And if it felt a bit like he had left his heart lying crippled at Merlin’s feet, well…Merlin always had a way of disrupting Arthur’s life.

**::**

A week past, full of Arthur dragging himself to work in the mornings and staying at his desk well into the night. He pushed all of his out of office obligations off onto his senior technologist and spent most of his office hours yelling at contractors over the phone and angrily pecking out thinly veiled emails. He even did fourteen hours of overtime that week dutifully doing the specifications that he usually put off on projects until the point they couldn’t be ignored.

He hadn’t heard from Merlin. He hadn’t let himself go back to Merlin’s flat either. He’d filled himself a grocery list online and had it delivered to the office, and he’d limited his exposure to the world as just the short jog of streets between his flat and work. He’d even fallen asleep at his desk one night.

When one of his female graduate students had slipped a latte with some sort of sad face drawn in cinnamon powder and a ‘feel better soon’ scrawled on the side of the cardboard cup onto his desk for when he’d woken, Arthur knew he had to pull himself together.

He booked a Ryanair flight to Barcelona for the weekend, went home for his passport, wallet and left.

Arthur spent three days seeing how far the Sagrada Familia had come and drinking the worst beer he’d had in a long while. Admittedly, he could have switched to wine after the first, but he was in a bit of a self-deprecating funk and some part of him didn’t want to drink something enjoyable.

Telling Merlin what he had, Arthur acknowledged, was the stupidest thing he had ever done in his entire existence. And that included several things he had done in Asia of which he was fairly certain Merlin remained oblivious of. Either that, or Merlin had somehow become extraordinarily generous in not mentioning them somewhere over the years.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t meant what he’d said. He had. It was the thought that now that Arthur had admitted it to the world - or Merlin, which to Arthur amounted to pretty much the same thing – Merlin might not want anything to do with him, let alone let Arthur close enough to touch him that way again. If he could just figure out a way to manage this – a state of mind he could assume to keep Merlin in his life without acknowledging that the only thing he wanted was to feel Merlin pressed against him and to know what it was to be even closer.

Could he sit back and let Merlin play house with men like Neil? To keep Merlin in his life, Arthur knew he would have to. There were so many moments in Arthur’s memory that had suddenly become indiscretions that had existed only as pleasurable ways to pass his time previously. People and trysts that lay piled at Merlin’s feet. Merlin had accepted them all. Perhaps he had never forgiven them, and Arthur had certainly never apologised for them. 

Arthur hadn’t even known there might have been reason to.

Which he knew was a lie. The guilt that stripped through him for days after, in Merlin’s presence or not, had meant something Arthur had never wanted to acknowledge. He couldn’t fault Merlin for his reaction. 

He dialled Merlin’s number in the hours that weren’t officially Saturday any longer, but refused to be known as Sunday. Arthur still didn’t know what to say. In fact, he felt physically ill at the thought of Merlin picking up at all, but the phone rang out and Arthur left no message. Even in his state, he knew better than to have a one-sided conversation with a machine.

When Arthur got home, it was late. All he wanted was to crawl into his bed until the morning – before he forced himself over to Simpson Loan to ask Merlin to consider keeping Arthur in his life, indiscretions and all. To ask Merlin to forgive him.

He paused in the doorway of his flat. He gently set down the small duffel he’d picked up in Spain and quietly took off his shoes, setting them down next to a pair piled in a heap near the door. Arthur padded over to the open door of his bedroom and rested a hand on the old brass fitting, taking in the dark shape under his duvet. He pulled the door mostly closed.

Something a bit like peace settled over him then, straightening out all the tangled knots that Arthur had hosted for longer than he could remember. None of it mattered any longer, not so long as they were together.

Arthur put the kettle on and made himself some toast. He had a shower, letting the hot water rinse off Spain and keep his mind oblivious to anything but the sound of it hitting against the tile like a summer downpour. Laundry he never remembered doing was sitting in a basket on a chair in his kitchen, and Arthur pulled on a pair of soft grey pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt.

He didn’t bother with the light as he padded into his dark room and softly took a seat on his double bed. Arthur didn’t mind the silence that settled over the room. 

“Do you remember,” Merlin’s said quietly a few minutes in, “the week before that day?” 

Arthur didn’t need to ask to know Merlin was thinking of standing in the rain, fighting over nothing and everything. He doesn’t remember the details of the week prior – he’s fairly certain they hadn’t done anything of particular note. Merlin still hasn’t moved from his place, his back turned to where Arthur sits. Arthur can’t even see his face, or the curve of his ear over the folds of the duvet. He hasn’t seen Merlin like this for a very long while – not since the Forties. 

“We were sat on Crow Hill with those kids from the university, and you’d picked up that battered old acoustic over Christmas,” Merlin filled in for him, though Arthur knows Merlin hadn’t expected him to answer. “…I keep trying to remember what you played.”

“Something by Jimi Hendrix,” Arthur suggested.

“You were never that cool,” Merlin responded, though there was a bit of something lighter in his tone. Arthur wanted to reach out and run a hand through Merlin’s dark hair, but he kept his hand loose against his thigh.

“I’ve made some tea, if you want it,” Arthur said when Merlin lapsed into silence once more. 

“I don’t want tea.” Arthur clamped a hand down on the soft shape of Merlin’s ankle under the layer of feathers and gave it a light squeeze. “I left him, Arthur.”

“I know,” Arthur said softly. Arthur crawled under the covers. As much as he wanted too, Arthur didn’t reach out to pull Merlin closer, or slot himself against the other man to press his nose against Merlin’s neck – he just closed his eyes and let himself be content. He felt Merlin shift and roll over, but that was all.

Merlin hadn’t closed the drapes, and morning hit Arthur with the sharp ribbons of sunlight filtering in through the window. Arthur rubbed his left hand across his face, blinking in the light. Merlin had somehow pinned his right hand in the middle of the night and Arthur’s ankle was trapped between Merlin’s. He smiled wryly, accepting his fate for the moment. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up to Merlin’s face sleeping next to him, let alone waking up before Merlin. Once, long ago, they had always slept tip to tail – in the years following, comfort had won out and neither had ever fussed about sleeping arrangements since. Sometimes Arthur had woken comfortable, with Merlin pressed up against his side, or sprawled across their bed for the night. Sometimes Arthur had been the one invading Merlin’s space until it was just their space. It had never been more than that. Arthur found he regretted lost chances.

“It was Blue Eyes,” Arthur said softly. He watched the frown crease Merlin’s face and felt the grumbled query rumble up through his arm. Merlin cracked one bleary eye open and Arthur smiled back. “That was the last song I learnt. It was by that Partridge fellow, and I wanted you to learn the kazoo part.”

“You don’t need to learn kazoo,” Merlin rasped sleepily.

“No, so I knew you could handle it,” Arthur agreed easily. “You let one of the girls take your part.”

Arthur kept still as Merlin’s hand rose to rest against Arthur’s neck, his thumb brushing against Arthur’s jaw.

“You were wrong, you know,” Arthur said softly. “Well, you were right, on some counts, but generally wrong.”

“You’re such an arse.” Merlin scrunched his eyes closed, rolling onto his back and scrubbing his hands over his face.

Arthur rolled over to peer down at Merlin. He pulled Merlin’s hands aside so he could meet Merlin’s eyes. “If I ever gave you reason to believe I could exist without you,” Arthur said. “It is because I know you deserve more than to throw your lot in with me.”

“Well, you’ve always been a bit of an idiot,” Merlin said with a light snort.

“You were also wrong about what happened outside your flat,” Arthur continued.

“Arthur, don’t.”

“Yes, I was bothered. No, it wasn’t a major contributing factor to my actions.”

Merlin didn’t look entirely like he believed Arthur yet, but Arthur knew now they would have time to remedy that. “And what was I right about, then,” Merlin asked. “In your opinion.”

“That I can’t abandon the world because it is easier,” Arthur said. “You were right about my responsibility.”

Merlin struggled to sit up on his elbows, frown marring his face. “You are not going on another Crusade. That region –“

“No. I’m not,” Arthur agreed with some amusement. “I haven’t decided what that means, but I’m not joining any more wars. Now, I’m going to say this here, because you can’t claim later you didn’t hear me, or didn’t understand what I meant,” Arthur said, giving Merlin’s wrists a squeeze. “I am in love with you, Merlin, son of Hunith, son of Balinor. I have been for some time, despite how infuriating you can be, and I fear I always will be despite better judgement.”

“I’m not sure I heard you there,” Merlin frowned.

“I’m not saying it again.”

Arthur blinked, wondering how Merlin had got his hands free a moment before he was being pulled forward, one of Merlin’s hands twisted in the collar of his old t-shirt. Merlin’s mouth was better than Arthur remembered through the dark nights of the past week, and better by far than anyone he’d kissed since Guinevere. 

When Merlin pulled back enough to rest his head against Arthur’s temple, Arthur said, “You could have done that fifty years ago, or a hundred, or a thousand. I’d have figured it out eventually.” He flinched as Merlin pinched his side and grinned against Merlin’s cheek. “Can you take a day off work?”

“I took a personal week to sort things out.”

Arthur ran a hand up under Merlin’s shirt and down his side. “Good.”

Merlin pressed a kiss against Arthur’s temple and rolled them over. Arthur watched Merlin’s face with wonder as Merlin smiled down at him with the first genuine smile he’d seen since Merlin showed up that night in the Castle Wynd. “I have something I want to show you after lunch.”

“Who said anything about lunch?” Arthur said, gripping Merlin’s waist. “We have a whole week before I even want to consider getting out of bed. Besides, I’ve already seen everything I’m concerned with at the moment.”

“Bathing in rivers isn’t quite the same,” Merlin said.

“You’re right, I’ll need a closer view.” Arthur’s hands slipped under the waistband of Merlin’s pants, his thumbs rubbing faint circles against Merlin’s skin.

“After lunch,” Merlin repeated, though far less firm than Arthur suspected Merlin had intended. Well, Arthur had always enjoyed battling wills with Merlin. He could do better than that.

**::**

“It’s a hill,” Arthur said.

They were standing in a wide grassy field off a dirt track pretending to be a road somewhere in the Scottish highlands. It was a beautiful few hills, Arthur had to admit, that surrounded the large field, and in the distance to the right he could make out more fields and a patch of water that could be a loch or a wide river. 

Merlin had directed Arthur with barely concealed excitement and Arthur had gone along, despite his mind snagging on thoughts of pale skin and rough touches. Around one, Merlin had pushed Arthur off his bed and told him to get dressed. Arthur had tried to follow him into the shower, but Merlin had obviously been wise to the attempt and had somehow sealed the shower door, so instead Arthur had pulled on a pair of jeans and called into the office to check in on his staff. When Merlin re-emerged, he had shot Arthur a grin as Arthur was ranting to his technologist about roofers and assuring him he’d be in later in the week to catch up.

Arthur trapped Merlin against the fridge after that, but Merlin kept pushing him towards the door until he’d finally relented.

“In front of the hill,” Merlin said, pushing Arthur’s head down to stare at the field. “Well, and the hill. And all that,” he said with a hand waved off into the distance.

Arthur followed his gesture off between the hills to where there looked to be a hairy coo grazing with an unconcerned air. “A hill and a highland cow?”

“Twenty acres,” Merlin said. “It’s twenty acres.”

“You bought this?” Arthur asked. He was looking at the land with new eyes, evaluating the terrain. 

“A long time ago. I thought we could start over. How much do you remember about growing vegetables?” Merlin said. He laughed as Arthur rounded on him, pulling Merlin into a fierce kiss.

“We’re not getting goats,” Arthur said against Merlin’s mouth.

“There’s a forest by the loch,” Merlin said. 

Arthur grinned. He caught a hand up in the back of Merlin’s shirt and started pushing him through the field. He relented, after a few token complaints, but by then they were racing towards the loch remembering halcyon days.

In the morning, he would give thanks to the Sidhe for preserving his destiny. That afternoon, he fully intended to throw Merlin into the loch and show him how enjoyable bathing in a river could be.


End file.
